New looks

Henriette walks in, and the shy blond girl you remember is gone. She's dark now—chestnut hair, silk-smooth down her back—and every curve of her heavy tits pushes at a tight little top. She stops in the middle of the room and just stands there a second, letting the change settle. Then her fingers slide down her belly, slip under the waistband, and she starts stroking slow circles over her clit. The room is quiet except for the soft, wet sound of her touch. She tilts her head back, exhales, and watches the mirror across from her, tracking the way her nipples stiffen under the fabric. Each breath lifts those full breasts higher; each little flick of her wrist sends a shiver up her spine. No rush. Just a woman who wants to feel every inch of herself—new color, new heat, same hungry cunt.